The Man in the Bowler Hat

By T.H. Wilson

There's no available information at this time. Author will provide once information is available.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798823083539

Book preview

© 2023 T.H. Wilson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  07/10/2023

ISBN: 979-8-8230-8354-6 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-8353-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023912540

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or

links contained in this book may have changed since publication and

may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those

of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 1

T HERE I WAS, SITTING DOWN by the lake, cold and naked in the darkness. A mist was covering the water.

Where is this place? I thought. Is this a dream? It seems so real. Maybe I will wake up soon.

I saw the moon in the sky. The water shimmered in its reflection.

I slowly rose to my feet and heard my name being whispered. Looking around me, I saw a light in the distance. I started walking towards it on what seemed to be a path.

The fog was falling hard, so it was difficult to see anything. As I got closer to the light, I saw the shape of a house. There was an open door through which the light was shining. I walked up some steps and through the door. Everything was quiet. I looked around. A grandfather clock stood in the corner. A couch, a table, and some chairs filled the room, and the fire was lit.

It illuminated the room, casting shadows on the wall. I looked around slowly. This place looked familiar to me.

Hello, I called out.

But there was no reply.

Hello, I said again. Is there anyone here?

Still no reply.

I heard what sounded like someone sobbing. It was coming from upstairs. I slowly walked up, clutching the handrail, not knowing what I would find when I reached the top. I saw three closed doors. I opened the first door; my hand was starting to tremble, and I heard my heart pounding in my chest. I switched the light on. There was a huge bed, a wardrobe, and a small table and lamp next to the bed. A rocking chair sat in the corner. A musty smell filled the room, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Nothing much to see here, I thought.

I went to the next door and opened it. It was very dark, so I fumbled to switch on the light. It was a small room filled with photographs, books, and lots of toys, most of which were broken. It was obvious it was a child’s room. I could hear sobbing coming from the third room, and it was getting louder. I tried to open the door, but it was locked.

Hello, I said. Is there anyone in there?

I knocked a few times but got no reply.

Will you open the door? There is nothing to fear, I called out but still got no answer.

I was about to walk down the stairs when I heard the door squeak as it opened. The light was on. As I slowly walked into the room, I could see the figure of a little girl on the floor next to the bed. She was still sobbing.

Hello, I’m Danny, and I mean no harm. What’s your name? I asked.

There was no response.

I’m not going to hurt you. What’s wrong?

Still no response.

I knelt beside the little girl, reached out my arm, and touched her on the shoulder. She quickly turned to me, and it was a terrible sight. She was deathly pale with blood pouring from her eyes.

Leave me alone, she said in a husky voice.

I fell backwards, and then there was darkness.

23108.jpg

Danny Wilson woke up in a cold sweat.

He sat up in bed with his knees towards his chest, arms around his legs. His bottom lip was twitching, and his lifeless eyes were looking at the blank television screen across the room. He was breathing heavily. He had just woken up from a bad dream. This was the way it had been for a while, on and off. They seemed to be getting more intense. He lit a cigarette and fell back onto the pillow, looking up at the ceiling as a cloud of smoke gathered around the room.

Danny suffered from severe memory loss; he had had it since he was a child. He kept a diary and would write down everything on a day-to-day basis. He had seen several doctors, but they could not give him an answer. They gave him sleeping pills, which did not help. He finished his cigarette, stubbed it out in the ashtray, and got out of bed and into the shower. He quickly dressed and put on a heavy coat, as it was wintertime.

His boss had given him a month off work to sort himself out. He would be driving up to Inchmore, a little town in the north of Scotland. He went there every year, as it was quiet and peaceful. There was a lake close by. His parents had left him a wee cottage. It was cleaned every two weeks by John, the caretaker. He started loading his van. First were his canvasses and paints and brushes. Painting was his hobby. Next, he put in his bow and arrows. He loved archery. He had joined his local club two years ago and had turned out to be a very good bowman. He had packed his suitcase the night before. He stuck his camera in his backpack—another hobby of his—as well as, of course, his stash of weed and plenty of it.

Danny said goodbye to the landlord, asking him to keep an eye on his flat. Everything was in the van. He got in, started the engine, put on his local rock station, and settled into his groove. He felt relaxed and ready for some time off. He was on the motorway in about twenty minutes.